


Dumb Asshole's Guide to Home Invasion

by SkazuhiraMiller



Series: Master Miller's Guide to Surviving the 2000s [1]
Category: Metal Gear
Genre: (mid 2000s internet culture), Banter, Booby Traps, Canon Compliant, Comedy, ELO, Feel the wrath of the BANHAMMER, Gen, INFORMATION SUPERHIGHWAY, Kaz's robot hand is fucking Cool, Liquid Snake's Astounding Intellect, Major Character Death averted, Mid 2000s casual gaming, Prank Calls, THEN WHO WAS PHONE?, The Anchorage Snake Man, Ultimate Power Tool Dad, as in- you can't prove this isn't what happened, cartoonish violence, danger zooooone, dog lore, interesting bionic hand attachments, juicy couture, ocelhira if you count jokes, small flashing GIF warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2018-12-03 12:46:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11532528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkazuhiraMiller/pseuds/SkazuhiraMiller
Summary: Sometimes you just gotta break into the house of your shitty brother's trusted mentor, kill him, and steal his identity.Sometimes you gotta take drastic measures to protect your house from your best student's stupid evil twin.Alternatively: a fix-it for everyone who's made me read Kaz's death via a comedic take on MGS1's plot twist.





	1. Whose Home Are You Invading Anyways?

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic ever! It's based on a shitpost I made a while back (of course) so think of this as the elaboration on this http://skazuhira.tumblr.com/post/148161526042/kept-her-toes-and-teeth-skazuhira-miller  
> Hope you guys find this as funny as Lia, my amazing beta reader, and I did!  
> (Much thanks to Lia you're the best for helping me out with this and encouraging and enabling.. so much)  
> Rated T for Swearing. A lot of swearing.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ocelot tells Liquid about the plan where he pretends to be Master Miller, which is somehow supposed to be a good idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now including Sick Cover Art by my friend Owl on twitter! check him out [here](https://twitter.com/OcelotsNose/status/996027157553041408), he's cool as hell!

 

Liquid turned the sunglasses over in his hand. Aviators. They were cheap knockoffs of some expensive brand.

“You’re kidding right? You want me to pretend to be Commander Arsehole? With the cane? From when I was 12? Isn’t he, like, twice my age now?”

Ocelot, unfazed, plopped a file down on Liquid’s desk labeled “Miller”, flipping it open to reveal a recent photo.“To be fair, he’s aged pretty well.”

Rolling his eyes and sighing, Liquid grabbed the photo to get a better look. Same square jaw and ever-present aviators he remembered. He’d traded the trenchcoat for a tank top that showed off his shiny bionic arm, and that he’d been working out. Liquid could respect that. Not quite reached the enlightenment level of forgoing all shirts, but it was a step. Like Ocelot, in the last 20 years Miller had grown his hair out and decided ponytails were in. Unlike Ocelot, he appeared to show minimal signs of graying. Liquid’s eyes flicked over the birth date in the file and then to the wall while he did the math. He snorted, looking up at Ocelot.  
“He’s only 2 years younger than you? Damn.”

“I didn’t come here to have my appearance insulted,” said Ocelot, mumbling something about hair dye.   

“Right. You came here to convince me to go along with what has to be your dumbest plan yet, and that’s saying something,” retorted Liquid.

“Listen. Everyone on base always thought you were his son anyways. You look more like him than you ever looked like your father.”

“Leave Big Boss out of this,” Liquid hissed.

“Plus, when have my plans ever lead FOXHOUND astray?”

Liquid found himself flashing back to Ocelot’s “Spin Your Guns!” team-building Event. Wolf ended up breaking some poor fuck’s nose trying to spin her rifle… Sasaki, was it? And don’t even get him started on what happened when Raven tried.

“You know what? Don’t answer that. But think about it. Your brother has a lot of respect for Miller. You’ll be able to feed him and his crew false information as we see fit. They’ll trust you completely if my intel is correct.” Ocelot pressed the tips of his fingers together. “Not to mention the psychological aspect. Your brother is highly skilled, but how will he react to learning that his trusted mentor and father figure is actually dead, and he’s been talking to an impostor?” Ocelot’s lips twisted into that little smile they always did when he thought about psychologically breaking someone.

Liquid had never been a fan of Ocelot’s ‘psychological warfare’ bullshit. Twenty years of dealing with a literal mind-reader was enough without the addition of a Russian spy obsessed with mind games. But the idea of being able to devastate Snake like that, make him that much easier to defeat? That was tempting. Because _apparently_ , he was going to need all the help he could get, because _apparently_ his brother was “the best soldier” and “truly deserving of his father’s codename” and “a bloody fucking hero” and... honestly he wouldn’t be surprised if his _legendary_ brother was the fucking _President of the United States_ too or something. And on top of that he _apparently_ got a “father figure” who _cared about him_.

Ocelot interrupted his train of thought.

“You’d also get to plan the reveal. I bet you could think of a pretty clever plan for that, couldn’t you?”

Now that just wasn’t fair. Liquid pushed the flood of reveal ideas to the back of his mind. Remember? This plan is stupid.

“I suppose I’m just going to cover my entire right arm in tinfoil then?” Liquid asked, throwing said arm into an exaggerated, annoyed shrug.

“Have you ever looked at a codec screen? It’s tiny and that won’t be visible anyways. Just try not to talk with your hands,” replied Ocelot, side-eying Liquid’s raised hand and twirling one of his guns impatiently.

“You _sure do_ think of everything, Ocelot.”

“For your information, it’s my _job_ to think of everything.”

“Your job. Spy bullshit is your job. Not mine. And yet you’re assigning me some Class-A spy bullshit right now.”

“Do you think I would be having you do this if I could do it myself?”

Ocelot reached across the desk and took the aviators in his gloved hand. He put them on.

“Not very convincing now, am I?” he asked. Somehow, they looked better than any pair of sunglasses Liquid had ever seen him wear.

“Maybe if you lost the Lee Van Cleef mustache”

“Never.” He replaced the gun in its holster. “I don’t have time to argue about this. I’m leaving this file and these” --he set the aviators back on the desk-- “here. Look over it and make your decision.” Liquid was left with the sound of Ocelot’s jingling spurs as he left the room. He squinted at the file.

“Ocelot- wait. One more question.”

Ocelot turned on his heel and re-entered the office. Liquid cleared his throat.

“If he's Japanese, then why is he blonde?”

Ocelot blinked, staring blankly at his ever-so-competent boss. “You tell me, boss. You seem to know an awful lot about recessive genes.” He resumed his exit before anyone could start a lecture on biology.


	2. This Guy. You’re Invading His Home.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Master Miller's conspiracy forum adventures are rudely interrupted. Also, he's terrible at naming dogs.

Son of a bitch. He… or… she? had really done it this time. Miller wasn’t really sure about the details of the gender of truth0l0gy_911. All he knew was that this asshole was trying to besmirch his good name to the entirety of AwakeNET, Web 2.0’s premiere conspiracy and cryptozoology message board. He stared wide-eyed at the Internet Explorer window on his CRT monitor, reading the post, entitled “Yeti_Stole_My_Arm is a FRAUD (proof inside).” Heart and mind racing, Miller began to hammer out a response, plastic clacking against the metal of his bionic right hand. He stopped abruptly, snapping out of his concentration upon hearing a familiar sound. _Jingle. Jingle._ Periodic like footsteps.

_Son of an even bigger bitch_ . This could mean one thing and one thing only. He spun around in his big leather computer chair to see exactly what he expected. A slender, graying man with long hair and still, those fucking cowboy boots, and.. was that a cowboy hat?, drawing a revolver,  coming ever closer, clicking off the safety, and saying in that _fakeass_ Southern drawl,

“It’s over, partner”

_Jingle… Jingle… Jingle…._ Miller jolted awake to a large husky licking his face, dog tags jingling as she moved her head.

“Fucking Christ, Mandy, you almost gave me a heart attack.”  He scratched her neck and planted a kiss on top of her head. “Alright, alright. I’ll feed you guys.”

After taking a shower and strapping on his bionic prosthetics, Miller got the huge bag of dog food down from the pantry. God bless Costco and their almost wholesale prices on bulk quantities. It was perfect for only having to interact with civilization as often as he wanted to. A crowd of fur and excitement barreled into the kitchen to meet him. Two huskies, a German Shepherd, and a large mixed breed dog followed him to the line of bowls.

The mixed breed was his first. Dave had mentioned something in passing about dogs making life out here a whole lot more bearable and one particularly lonely morning Miller caved and visited the dog shelter. There he was drawn to an excitable ball of fluff- still a puppy but definitely on the way to being a sizable companion.

“I've gotta warn you- no one's taken her yet because she has a tendency to get really loud at night,” the volunteer had warned him after he expressed interest in adopting her.

“Unless she sounds like gunshots and explosions she shouldn’t be a problem,” Miller had said with a smile that probably hadn’t done much to calm the volunteer’s unease at his statement. Besides, it wasn’t like there were many neighbors around to complain about noise, and he had grown to dislike how quiet the nights were out there. No ambient freeway sounds like in LA.

That night she had jumped up on Miller’s chair and knocked down his bowl of yakisoba, earning her the name Noodles ‘Yakisoba’ Miller. And the noodles. Miller figured she deserved them this time.

The second time Miller visited the dog shelter, he told the volunteer he was looking for another dog on the larger side. Volunteer mumbled that she knew “a perfect dog for him” and walked him down the aisle of cages to a German Shepherd who was missing his one of his front legs. Miller glanced at his metal arm and then at the volunteer.

“Is this some kind of joke to you?” he’d said, voice low.

“I’m… I’m sorry, sir I didn’t mean to-” she had managed to stammer before Miller cut her off, chuckling

“Nah, I’m just fucking with you. He looks like a charming boy, can you take him out?”

That dog, he decided, would be named Cody. When Dave found out what Cody was short for he had sighed the deepest sigh.

“Master Miller… you’re joking right?”

“Why shouldn’t I name him after something I invented myself? Something that’s _very_ popular, I might add,” inquired Miller.

“You named him after _Mountain Dew Code Red._ You _just told me_ his name is Code Red ‘Cody’ Miller,” David had said, exasperation heavy in his voice. This man was pushing 60??

“You’re one to talk, isn’t one of your huskies named _Goku_?” retorted Miller.

“Excuse me? Goku saved us all. I think that’s a _perfectly_ honorable namesake.” The kid sure got defensive of his cartoons sometimes.

“When he gets really mad does he turn into a blonde husky?” Miller had laughed.

David would have no more of it. But it didn’t matter what he thought of Cody’s name, he had to admit Cody was a good dog. There was something about Cody’s off-kilter, 3-legged gait that filled Miller with pride.

 

The huskies were because one morning he got a call from a stressed-out Dave.  As it turned out, the previous owners of his newest husky had conveniently not informed him that she was pregnant. Miller wasn't about to tell the kid no, I won't help you with brand new puppies. So he'd hopped in his truck with Cody and Noodles and driven on over for a few days of helping with dogs and making the kid home-cooked meals. This Snake seemed to appreciate those more than his namesake ever had. That and his _real_ dad had never done shit like this for him.

They had been sitting quietly watching Laika nurse her healthy litter of four when Dave broke the silence.

“Realistically I only have room for one more right now. Campbell said his niece or someone would be willing to give one a good home but that leaves....”

He didn’t need to finish.  

“I’ve got more than enough room for two more,” Miller had volunteered. Those chubby, sleepy pups needed him and Cody and Noodles could use some new siblings.

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Consider them already part of the family.”

Dave had rolled his eyes when Miller told him the name he was giving the girl with the mismatched eyes.

“This one will be named after your favorite Japanese food I make for you.”

Dave rolled his eyes. “That fried chicken stuff?”

Miller nodded. “Karaage. Kari for short.”

“Do you name _all_ your dogs after food?”

“For your information, I was gonna name the other one Mandy. After an old friend.”

 

These days Mandy and Kari were all grown up. Miller filled up their bowls. Red for Cody, yellow for Mandy, blue for Noodles, and green for Kari. He knew dogs couldn’t see color very well, but he picked out “favorite colors” for them nonetheless and got them bandanas to match.

While they ate he turned his attention to his computer. Windows XP slowly but surely booted up. That had been one hell of a dream. Truth0l0gy_911 was far too cowardly to pull that shit in this dimension, he was sure, but he felt self-consciousness creep up. His photos didn’t look demonstrably edited! Or did they? Not many people bothered to argue much with the guy who, as far as they could tell, actually lost his right arm in a very close encounter with the Abominable Snowman. He was very convincing, ok?

But truth0l0gy_911 seemed less convinced than most, and was following him, so it seemed, across boards trying to poke holes in his theories. If that kid had seen half the shit Miller had in his days of close encounters with the very real shadow illuminati, maybe he’d back the fuck off. Or at least, chances were it was a kid. Seemed like almost everyone he ran across online was a quarter his age or younger.

There it was. His desktop background-- a picture he’d snapped of his dogs silhouetted against the sunrise, reflecting off the snow. His icons. He clicked the blue e and navigated to AwakeNET. It was just as he thought. Truth0l0gy_911 not seen online in 3 days. That meant they weren’t arguing on his weather control conspiracy thread. Look, he wasn’t SAYING that Ocelot got his Patriot buddies to orchestrate the 1998 El Niño so his car would get stuck in the river formerly known as the 110 freeway but _he wasn’t discounting it_.

Hey, it could happen. He tried to push Ocelot to the back of his mind after the ending of that dream. He accepted that he’d probably be having nightmares about the old bastard for the next few nights. He had just begun to read through the latest additions to the UFO sticky when the phone rang.

Hopefully it was that divorcee he’d chatted up at the upscale dog boutique. But probably not. He was still figuring out how to not scare the shit out of that market. He picked up the phone.

“Hello? Am I speaking to Mr. Miller?” said the voice on the other end.

“Who’s asking?”

The person on the other end cleared his throat. “This is… Bill from the Alaska State Board of Appliance Inspection. I’ve called to ask you a few questions about your household, Mr. Miller.”

“Uh huh.” Miller took on his standard unconvinced telephone voice.

“I’ll start if you don’t mind. First off, is your refrigerator running?”

Miller sighed. “Real cute, kid. Your British accent needs some serious work,” he said before replacing the receiver in its cradle with a pointed _click_.

Now back to that UFO thread.

The phone rang again.

“G’day mate! You’ve subscribed to Animal Facts Daily! To unsubscribe at any time, just say, ‘I’m a fat hairy cunt!’”

Miller was 90% sure it was the same kid from before, doing a bad Australian accent this time.

“Today’s fact is about the margay,” the voice on the other end paused to snicker at the word.

Miller cut him off. “Here’s an animal fact. Did you know that the ocelot, closely related to the margay, regularly lets smaller mammals just DIE on its face, specifically the upper lip area? Scientists still do not know the reason for this behavior, but it sure as hell doesn’t help attract mates.”

_Click._ Dial tone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who helped suggested names for Master Miller's dogs.


	3. Getting In Your Target’s Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So apparently there were tapes. Liquid has a plan for these tapes. A Bad Plan.

_Click._ Dial tone.

“Holy shit,” Liquid said out loud to no one in particular. This Miller bloke had just brought Ocelot within inches of his life to a complete stranger on the phone. Maybe he and Commander Arsehole had more in common than he’d thought.

But wait. Did Miller know? Did he know the person who called him also knew of Ocelot the person? Fuck, had he been found out that easily? Whatever. This was too hilarious not to continue.

Two hours later, Mr. Dead Animal Face kicked the door to Liquid’s office open unceremoniously.

“What are you _doing?_ ” he hissed, pointing at a list he’d printed of outgoing call logs from Liquid’s line.

Liquid rolled his eyes. “Can’t a lad do something nice every once in a while and order pizza for his unit?”

“And call them 20 times?”

“It’s not QUITE as easy to order when they keep hanging up on you because--” Liquid raised his fingers to form air quotes, “-- Aren’t you the bloke we kicked out of the store last month for refusing to wear a shirt and telling another customer they will quote, burn in hell, unquote for ordering pineapple on their pizza’”

Ocelot chuckled. “I know. I was there. You ruined FOXHOUND Pizza Night. But you’re telling me that Miller runs a pizza joint now?”

Liquid stared at him in disbelief. “You… how did you know?”

“I know a lot of things, boss.”

“Well, you wanted me to pretend to be Miller over codec. Seems to me a pretty important aspect of that would be getting down his voice.”

“And you’d be right about that. But that’s what we have tapes for.”

“There are tapes?”

“Dozens of hours, yes. What did you two even talk about anyways? Some of these calls it looks like he didn’t immediately hang up.”

“Oh, so you weren’t listening in the entire time?”

“I don’t know what you _think_ I do here but I’m not a _complete_ creep. You didn’t say anything that compromised the operation I hope.”  

“Well, Miller had some choice words about _you._ Completely unprompted I might add.”  

“Oh, did he now?”

“Well,” Liquid paused, trying not to laugh, “He said a ‘fact’ about ocelots is that they… heh.. They let small mammals die on their upper lips.”

Ocelot’s hands flew to his mouth. “He did NOT say that.”

“Believe what you want, old man.”

“I _believe_ you may have compromised the operation with your harebrained prank calling schemes. I’ll return in a few minutes with the box of tapes.”

 

When Ocelot returned, Liquid was hard at work scribbling on a pad of paper. He’d crossed out a lot of words but circled and underlined in his near-illegible scrawl was “DID YOU LIKE MY SUNGLASSES, SNAKE???”

Liquid looked up at the sound of Ocelot’s footsteps and spurs. Ocelot set a large box down on the desk. Liquid opened up the box and started rummaging around, removing tapes and putting them on the desk. There were a lot of tapes. Ocelot had to have like, at least a full 24/7 week’s worth of tapes of Miller’s recorded voice. Or at least Liquid figured it was probably that much. He never claimed to be good at math.

“You’ve got an awful lot of these tapes, Ocelot, don’t you think? Why have you got this many? You fancy this Miller character or something?”  

Ocelot looked down his nose at Liquid like he’d just asked one of his Stupid Liquid Questions. “For your information, one of the preliminary versions of the plan for this assassination attempt involved the creation of some sort of Miller AI. The program would need a lot of data to pull from to fully develop the vocals feature.”

“You were gonna make a robot?”

“Not a robot, an AI. Just something convincing enough to fool the necessary parties.”

“I take it Operation: Make Ocelot A Robot Boyfriend didn’t go too well?”

Ocelot rolled his eyes. “Why take the time to build an AI when we have a perfectly capable double right here? Who only needs a few hours of data, I would hope, to get the vocals down convincingly.”

Liquid smirked. “So I guess that explains why in this here file you’ve got an entire beach photoshoot from the 1970s…”

Ocelot’s voice was getting increasingly annoyed. “If you _must_ know, I don’t ‘fancy’ Miller. If I did why would I be having him killed?”

Fair point. Liquid knew there was some legitimate spy reason for all these tapes and pictures. He just loved watching the old man try to keep his cool in increasingly annoying situations. But he couldn’t help but think there was some more complex motive here. There always was. It was Ocelot. Liquid couldn’t trust him as far as he could throw him. Not since his “Spaghetti Westerns” movie night turned out to be suspiciously lacking in pasta, and was in fact, just a bunch of overly-long cowboy movies. Whatever Ocelot’s game was, Liquid figured it wasn’t for him to know or care about at this point. He had tapes to listen to, he supposed.

Ten tapes later Liquid had an idea. An idea that would require some help from that engineer kid.

 

“Emmerich.” he said, perhaps a bit too forcefully, barreling into his office.

The kid spun around in his chair. Was he.. shaking? “S-sir… The programming for REX is going smoothly, but since you’re here I’d like to confirm that.. Confirm I read this right… you’ve requested I add dinosaur noises?”

Liquid nodded. “You read it right. The Metal Gear Mantis and I stole back in the ‘80s had dinosaur noises and it was the bloody _coolest_. Every mech should have something like that, don’t you think?”

“Yeah.. haha.. Like if Jurassic Park was a mech anime... Was there something else you needed?”

“Yes actually. You know about Newgrounds.com?”

“I… yeah.”

“How do I make something like that? Something interactive.”

“You want to make a Flash game?”

“Not a game… a little simpler than that. Just one where you click and it plays a sound.”

“A soundboard.”

It took an hour or so but that Emmerich kid knew what he was doing. Liquid left the office with a “No problem, sir” and a barebones soundboard Flash file on a USB drive that he’d been walked through pretty thoroughly.

Now the hard part was finding the right sound bites.

 

20 more tapes, 3 hours, and a lot of dragging and clicking later commander_arsehole.swf was a go, complete with the dumbest-looking candid photo Liquid could find in the Miller file in the corner of the screen.  Liquid was ready to make the Ultimate Prank Call, Ocelot be damned.


	4. Well Shit. You Really Got In His Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WORMHOLE ENGAGED, BITCH!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song in the beginning is Don't Bring Me Down by ELO.  
> If you're not familiar with it I implore you to check it out so you can Truly Experience the dog spinning  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z9nkzaOPP6g

“You’re always talkin’ ‘bout your crazy nights.  
One of these days you’re gonna get it right.  
Don’t bring me down,” Miller sang along to the bouncy rock song playing from his iPod speakers as he poured half-and-half into a saucepan of melted butter and adjusted the heat. He shook his head in time with the next line  
“No, no, no, no no-o,” he pointed at Noodles, who had wandered in to watch him cook a variation on her namesake.

“I’ll tell you once more, before I get off the floor. _Don’t bring me down_.” He cracked a smile. Noodles wasn’t gonna judge him for how badly he was about to fuck up the chorus. He glanced over and the water pot appeared to not be boiling yet. Good.

“Don’t bring me _doooowwwnnnn,_ Noodles!” He didn’t care that Noodles wasn’t the right number of syllables. He picked her up with both hands and held her in front of him.  
“Don’t bring me _dowwwwwwwnn,_ Noodles!” He spun the bewildered but thrilled dog around. “Don’t bring me _dowwwwwwnnnnnnnnn,_ Noodles!” He reveled in how wrong he got those last few notes. He placed Noodles back on the floor. He washed his hands in the sink and swayed his way over to the pantry to retrieve noodles the food.

It had taken him 3 tries to find this fucking song on LimeWire. The first _Dont Bring Me Down - Electric Light Orchestra.mp3_ he downloaded had been originally from a notorious user who uploaded .mp3s of “What’s New Pussycat?” by Tom Jones edited to various lengths and named after various songs. One day, he told himself, one day you’ll find the whole album with no fuckery or viruses.

Miller pushed his aviators up to rest on his forehead so they wouldn’t fog up. He cracked the lid of the pot and felt the hot steam rising to his face. Finally boiling. He dumped the pasta into the boiling pot but caught one long, flat, uncooked noodle between his metal fingers. The first 20 or so times he’d tried that he’d snapped the noodle on contact. But today he twirled the pasta around in his fingers and placed it between his teeth. He shifted his teeth so the pasta angled upwards. All he needed was a six-shooter and he’d be ready to turn that murder from his dream into a fair duel. He pushed it to the back of his mind. Again. Those phone calls hadn’t helped. There was something... decidedly off about those phone calls.

Miller came crashing out of his own thoughts as he noticed his cream sauce starting to boil over. His hand flew to the knob to turn the burner down. _Pull yourself together, Miller. You’re not just gonna let that greasy, Sergio-Leone-rejected Russian taunt you from another dimension and ruin your dinner._

Miller stirred the sauce. Satisfied with how it was going, he set down the wooden spoon and set the stove timer for the boiling pasta, making a mental note that when it got down to 5 minutes he’d put in the garlic bread. He had just raised his glass of red wine to his lips to take a sip when the _fucking_ phone rang again.

In spite of himself he walked over to pick it up. The voice on the other end was different this time.

“Hello.” it sounded like.. No, it couldn’t be.

“Who is this?” Miller asked, eyes narrowed.

“Kazuhira Miller.” It was unmistakably his own voice.

His grip on his wine glass failed. It shattered on the hardwood floor. He hadn’t heard that name in years.

His useless inquiry of “What the fuck?” was met by

“Shut up.” A pause. “Bitch!” followed by laughter. All in Miller’s own voice.

He slammed down the receiver three times just to be sure whatever the fuck that was wasn’t connected to his house anymore.

Dogs came running at the sound of the glass. Miller regained his composure just enough to tell them to stay, using the firm and calm voice he always used for dog commands. He knew one thing. Creepy phone call be damned, no baby paws would be hurt by the aftermath. Non-negotiable. They stayed even as he left the room and came back with a towel, hand broom, and dustpan. Turns out those techniques Ocelot had showed him about training dogs had proved valuable.  

The oven timer beeped. Miller turned off the stove. He took the colander in his right hand and the pasta pot in his left hand and positioned himself at the sink. He didn’t bother to put the colander down or move his hand as he poured scalding water all over. He gave the drained pasta a few shakes before setting it aside and turning on the cold water. He watched it sizzle off his metal hand. That shit never got old.  

Miller sat at the small, rectangular table he used as a dining table. He poked at his food. It didn’t taste quite right. Had he forgotten an ingredient? He could’ve sworn he hadn’t. He walked himself through the process of cooking and- there it was. The food was fine but it was being ruined by the feeling in the pit of his stomach. He’d make a note of that - put it right on the recipe - _note: tastes better without some serial killer dipshit terrorizing you on the phone._ He forced himself to finish his plate and busied his mind with cleaning up.

Miller found himself scrubbing, scrubbing, scrubbing at this _one spot_ that was just being a _pain in the ass_ and then it dawned on him. The countertop was spotless. That was just part of the granite. Fuck. He started up his computer again. Maybe a game would help calm his mind.

Not _Diner Dash_ . Being reminded of his old job in any capacity was the furthest from what he needed right now. Usually it was good for that urge he still got occasionally to manage… _something._ But not today. He closed out and didn’t save. Maybe that was the sequel to the game. 20 years later the chef goes and murders the poor waitress’s ass. He shook his head. He needed something mindless. He searched absentmindedly through the Start menu. There it was. _3D Space Cadet Pinball_.

He held down Space to launch the ball. He got lost in the synthy space sound effects.  

“WORMHOLE ENGAGED, BITCH!” he said, not even knowing entirely what that message from the game had meant but feeling accomplished nonetheless. As he played more he started to grasp what some of the text meant and adjust strategies.

He got ready to launch the last ball. He was _this_ close to beating his own high score. He was sure this extra ball he’d earned would put him over the top. He was ready to type HELLMASTER B) in the box at the #1 spot. As the ball barrelled down, fresh off one of the bumpers, Miller’s finger slipped to an adjacent key. Why the _fuck_ wasn’t the flipper operating? He hammered the key. _Clackclackclackclack._ “TILT” said the game’s display. He looked down at his mispositioned hand. _Apparently_ , tilting makes you _die._ That’s fucking _stupid_ . Why would they even put that button in there? Fuck you. He came here to play a no-nonsense game without any _tricks_ but _noooo_ , can’t have that can we? He stood up with a huff.

He started pacing back and forth down the hallway. What if that call really _did_ mean something? What if he really was the waitress and it was just a matter of time before the chef showed up on his doorstep with his tacky six shooters? He didn’t take Ocelot for one to be this _sloppy_ , and yet… It all made his head hurt. He clasped his hand around the rubber band in his hair and gently pulled down. That should relieve any physical tension on his head at least. He shook his hair out and kept walking. Each time he doubled back it seemed like yet another dog had joined him.

“God, you guys are like ducklings, aren’t you?” he said, petting Kari’s neck. “Can’t really brood with ducklings following me, huh?”  

He made his way to the garage, put on the jacket he had hanging next to the door, went in, and closed the door behind him before any dogs could follow. He hit the light switch and the garage lights came on, emitting a constant hum. He looked around. The garage had a lot of shit in it but it was well-organized. Although it was a tight fit, there was room to walk around even with his truck inside.

A box caught his eye. It was those knife sets he’d ordered from one of those 3 am infomercials. Only $19.99! Stainless Steel! Call now! He still wasn’t entirely sure what had compelled him to buy those but hey. They’d thrown in another set, _absolutely free_ . Those could definitely be of use. He slid the panel on the back of his right hand back to reveal a grid of buttons. He pressed one. A slot opened up on his right index finger and he folded a small blade out of it. He cut through the tape, opened the box,  and examined the knives, retracting his own. They weren’t gonna split hairs, but neither was Miller. They’d do damage either way if someone, say, _fell on them_. He started rummaging around. Definitely there was some usable shit in here. He’d be damned if he was gonna let this house go down without a fight.


	5. Actually Invading the Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> APPARENTLY, this Commander Arsehole has seen Home Alone (1990)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feels good to be posting the chapters that detail how Miller Doesn't Die on Official Miller Doesn't Die Day, February 25th :)

All of FOXHOUND gathered near the facility entrance to send off their boss. Raven helped him load weapons into the helicopter. They took turns offering him advice.

“Don’t engage Miller in close combat if you can avoid it,” warned Wolf.

“The mind is the most powerful weapon. Get in his head,” said Mantis

“Use nature and your surroundings to your advantage,” said Raven, who then added, “also a _huge_ gun can’t hurt your chances.”

“Pretend to be the pizza guy or something,” Octopus said, shrugging.

Ocelot rolled his eyes. “None of you know _the first thing_ about assassinations. Knowing your target is the most important thing. For example, Miller is missing an arm and a leg. He takes off his bionic limbs to sleep, so it would be wise to attack at night while he sleeps and is at his most vulnerable.”

Liquid shook his head. “Thanks for the advice, _team_. I’ll just pop out of the pizza box and snipe him with a minigun while he's asleep. A foolproof plan, really.” He turned to get into the helicopter and felt Mantis’s presence in his mind.

“Come back safe. If you die out there, _Ocelot_ will be in charge and I _will_ kill myself,” said Mantis’s voice in Liquid’s head.

 _I’m glad you care_ so _much, Mantis,_ thought Liquid.

***

Liquid finally arrived at the location the file specified was the best to hide the unassuming white sedan he’d be using as a getaway car and walk the rest of the way to Miller’s cabin. It was around 3:30 AM, which in theory worked perfectly with Ocelot’s advice about ambushing Miller while he’s down two limbs. Liquid glanced at the map. Walk almost three miles to the actual house? Fuck, so much for Raven’s _big gun_ plan. Liquid wasn’t about to carry anything bigger than a rifle all the way over there. He parked the car out of sight from the main road, zipped up his layers of coats, and put on his gloves. This was it.

It was as dark as the inside of Octopus’s hypothetical pizza box. Liquid was beginning to wonder if he’d gone the wrong way when something snapped against his ankle.

Orange flames bloomed across the snow in front of him, singing his eyebrows and the ends of his hair. Liquid stumbled backwards. “What the _fuck?”_ By the light of the flame he glimpsed a cabin in the background. The flames died down. He noticed that his right glove was _smoking_ . _Fuck._ He buried his hand in the snow for a good minute, just in case. The area smelled distinctly of gasoline. The old coot thought he could deter potential intruders with a wall of fire, eh? Liquid trudged forward a little more carefully this time.

Maybe his best bet was the front door. After all, Miller wouldn’t expect a potential assassin to enter through the front door. Too obvious. Old man wouldn’t know what hit him. Liquid shined a light on Miller’s impeccably shoveled front walkway and driveway.

He made it about one and a half steps before losing his footing and landing directly on his tailbone. “ _Shit!_ ” he yelled. His hand flew to his mouth when he realized how loud he’d been. He picked himself up. Alright. Try again. Probably black ice or whatever it was called. He just had to take smaller steps, right?

Shuffling like a baby penguin got him about halfway up the driveway before he slipped again and slid all the way back down on his ass. _Wheeee._ He was beginning to think that tricky bastard had fucking _greased_ the walkway or something. He made one last attempt, crawling this time. His hands slid right out from under him, leaving his face to slam against the ground. _That fucker._ Guess the front door was out of the question.

Liquid got back up on his feet and started to walk around to the side of the house. So far, so good, he thought, until he found himself clotheslined and tumbling into a garden planter. He felt a stabbing pain in the hand he put out to catch himself. “ _Bloody hell,”_ he whispered. He turned his flashlight on. It was an _actual fucking knife_ . This Miller bloke had a fucking _knife garden_ with a tripwire, the absolute madman. Liquid’s glove had taken the brunt of the impact but still, what the _fuck_ . He was bleeding a little. He willed the wound to freeze shut, or whatever, considering how _bloody_ cold it is out here. Now. Points of entry. He figured if Miller had gone to the trouble to protect the house with fire, knives, and grease, the back door would _definitely_ be locked. But what about the windows?

He spied a pile of landscaping rocks. _Ah-ha. Thoughtless oversight, Miller. Didn’t think I would get this far, did you?_   He picked out one that was heavy enough to do some damage but light enough to throw. He wound up and unleashed it on the side window.

He heard a loud _CRACK_ instead of the shatter he was expecting, followed by the sound of an assload of dogs going absolutely batshit, followed by the sensation of the wind being knocked out of him. Liquid lay there in the snow, piecing together what in the _hell_ just happened. He pushed the rock off his abdomen. _Of course Miller had bulletproof glass installed in his home_ . With enemies like Ocelot, Liquid couldn’t really blame him. He tried to concentrate on something _other_ than the pain in his stomach. Alright. So this Miller keeps a pretty tight fortress. Windows and doors were right out. He wouldn’t be surprised if every door in the house had at least three heavy pieces of furniture pushed against it. And Miller was _probably_ awake.

What about the roof? LIquid wasn’t stupid enough to attempt some Santa Claus bullshit but if he could get a gas canister in through that chimney, he could gas the whole cabin and leave Miller no escape. Theoretically. He pushed away the thought that Miller had built some sort of awful chimney flamethrower to prevent this. He couldn’t have thought of _everything_ , right?

Liquid noticed the back of the house had a garden shed against the wall. Bingo. All he had to do was climb on top of the shed and he’d have a clear shot at the roof. He wished the dogs would shut the _bloody hell_ up because they made it _hard to concentrate._

He approached the shed. It was about 20 feet away when he found himself on the ground, _again._ He’d fallen at a weird angle and was pretty sure his ankle was twisted. He muttered to himself and turned his flashlight to illuminate what the fuck just got him. It appeared to be a snow-covered pitfall full of sharpened tree branches and an overturned chair with the legs sharpened to a point that he would’ve hit had he fallen differently. Christ, was this fucker ever determined to live. He hobbled over, hoping this was a “walk it off” kind of ankle twist. He managed to climb up the side of the shed.

The moment he put his weight on the shed roof to make the step up to the roof proper, the shed roof collapsed in on itself, depositing Liquid into a pile of manure fertilizer. He shifted to find that it was also _full of shards of broken glass_. He managed to force open the shed door and stumble out.

He was covered in shit and low on ideas. He crawled back the way he came, not willing to risk whatever was on the other side of the house. He heard what sounded like someone pull-starting a chainsaw. _Prmm… prmmm… prrrrrrrrbrrrbrrrbrrbrrr._ The living room window filled with light. Liquid looked up. Silhouetted against the white curtains he saw a humanoid figure. The figure’s right arm appeared to end in the chainsaw that was making all the noise. The other arm appeared to be holding a shotgun, which meant either… Miller was holding the chainsaw effortlessly in one hand _or Ocelot had sent Liquid to assassinate a man with a fucking chainsaw hand._

Over the din of the chainsaw and the neverending barks of the dogs, Liquid thought he could make out a voice, shouting something like, “ _Come and fucking get me you Snake-man bastard!_ ”

This was _too far_ . _Nothing_ in that file had said _anything_ about Miller being an absolute madman, much less having a _chainsaw hand_ . Or knowing who he was! Snake man. Liquid sighed. Yet again, defeated by his inferior genetics. Even Miller knew he was no match. He got on his feet and decided it was best to get the fuck out of there before the Chainsaw Man came out for blood. He thanked the gods of failed assassination attempts that he managed to get out of there without running into any more traps and found the car in the pitch darkness. He treated his hand wound. What the hell was he going to tell Ocelot and everyone? Not the _truth_ , that’s for sure.


	6. NEVERMIND, LET’S NOT INVADE THIS HOME

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some absolute Bruce Campbell shit

Miller had one hand on Noodles’ collar and one on Mandy’s and managed to get Cody and Kari under his arms. All the dogs were on high alert. He was, too. His heart rate was out of control. The Reckoning was upon them and it was taking all of Miller’s concentration to keep them quiet. He figured the fewer signs of life there were (lights off, no noise), the better.

That was, until the idiot outside fell for the rock pile. _CRACK,_ followed by a grunt _._ Fucker even got hit by the ricochet… Excellent. But so much for quiet dogs. Every single dog’s hair was on end and they were barking more than Miller had ever heard. He hooked his fingers into all their collars. They would be going somewhere safer for Phase Delta of Operation: Defend The Nest. Miller kissed each of them and murmured apologies after he herded them all into the bathroom. “You guys will all be safe in here. Daddy has to go do something… really stupid.”

If he had to be honest, it _was_ really stupid. But judging by the noises he’d been hearing outside, whoever… or whatever it was, was hitting _every_ trap, and would be absolutely scared shitless by what he was about to do. Look, whoever was out there was _probably_ one of Ocelot’s lackies, but he wasn’t discounting the possibility it could be the Anchorage Snake Man. People on AwakeNET had been reporting sightings of a hostile cryptid with _snakes for hands_ in the area. Who or what it was wasn’t important though. He heard a thud out back. Have fun in the shitpile, asshole. Miller clicked off the hand attachment of his bionic arm. He hadn’t messed with this in years. But he also hadn’t had his life threatened in his own home in years.

He turned on a small flashlight. Made sure it wouldn’t be visible from the outside. Light flooded around the device in front of him. God, this thing was even more ridiculous than he remembered. Back in FOXHOUND, Dave and Frank had presented him with a particularly heavy box on his birthday. They had been trying not to laugh as he opened it and he immediately saw why. It was a _fucking chainsaw hand_ , some absolute Bruce Campbell shit, and designed to actually fit his bionic. Miller had laughed his ass off too, tried it on for them, even re-enacted the famous _Evil Dead_ movie poster with Fox clinging dramatically to his leg for a photo.

He clicked the attachment into place. He lifted his arm. Felt good. Felt natural, or as natural as a giant power tool in place of a hand could. He was surprised at the design and craftsmanship that went into what amounted to a gag gift. He made a mental note to chop wood with this thing sometime. He realized he should have put his hair up for the sake of safety but fuck it, he wasn’t gonna put his hand back on just for that.

He’d filled it up with gasoline earlier that day, when he’d decided against all better judgment to get that thing down after staring at it too many times in the garage in the trap-setting phase.

Now came the fun part. He gripped the pull start cord in his left hand and yanked. The chainsaw putted. He yanked again, once, twice more, and it revved to life. He flicked the light switch on and picked up the shotgun that was resting across his train table, careful even in his manic state not to disturb any precious train models.

“ _Come and fucking get me, you Snake Man bastard!”_ he shouted. Okay, not his best one-liner, but good enough for 72 hours without sleep. He was pretty sure his hand excused him from having to come up with clever banter. He was about ready to get him a couple snake arms to mount over his fireplace as trophies. David would _never_ believe where he got those from. Thinking about fucking up that Snake Man, he raised up his right arm and laughed. Whoever Ocelot sent was _no match_ for Fort Miller and its powerful guardian.

Miller was _sure_  if the engine hadn’t been so deafening he would’ve heard the coward outside’s footsteps getting further and further away. But not sure enough to sleep for at least the next 12 hours. The gasoline fumes were getting to him so he shut the chainsaw off, clicked his hand back on, and went to go check on the dogs. They were tense, but not barking anymore. He allowed himself to relax for a second with a husky in each arm.

  
“We _lived,_ ” he sighed, tentative but relieved, “You all deserve Home Defense doggie treats.” But no going outside until everything out there was deactivated and safe for pups.


	7. So You Didn't Invade the Home: Damage Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's a lad got to do for a bloody burrito?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first part was definitely partly inspired by the legendary Cam Clarke plays Liquid Snake in the Taco Bell Drive Thru [video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D65NFpo_GzM) that you should definitely watch if you haven't

This could be worse, Liquid supposed. He could be laying in that pit with a chair leg through his abdomen. Or in several pieces thanks to Miller’s chainsaw hand. When he thought about it, Miller didn’t _really_ have to die for this operation. He would be out of the way defending his house in his infinite paranoia for the next week anyways.

But what was FOXHOUND’s leader and failed assassin going to do in the meantime? Stop by Taco Bell on the way back for some disgustingly cheap snacks, for one. He pulled up to the drive-thru window. This would be a perfect opportunity to test out his Miller impression. Last time he’d tried to drive through this particular Taco Bell they recognized his voice immediately and told him “No way, shirtless guy from last week who called our entire kitchen staff _degenerates_.” Bunch of degenerates.

He cleared his throat. “I’m a crazy bastard with a _chainsaw hand!_ ” he said, in Miller’s perfect American accent, before rolling down the sedan’s window.

“Welcome to Taco Bell, may I take your order?” said the voice over the intercom.

“Yes, I’d like a bean burrito with a large Mountain Dew,” Liquid enunciated, just like Miller.

“Sir, I’m afraid we can’t serve you,” said the voice, followed by a loud whisper, “ _I think that crazy fucker with the metal arm is back again_ ,” followed by, “Oh _shit._ This thing’s still on.”

“And why not?” Liquid insisted.

“Are you saying you’re _not_ the guy from the _knife hand_ incident?”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!”

“Well, you sound just like him, and boy, did he have a lot to say. We reserve the right to refuse service to anyone, so. Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to back out of-”

Liquid didn’t hear the rest. He rolled up the window, shifted into reverse, and skidded back out. How the _bloody hell_ did _Miller_ get banned from the same shitty chain restaurant? What were the odds? He supposed Miller didn’t live _too far_ from this location. Why was their drive-thru operator so talented at voice recognition? Was there anything this old man _hadn’t ruined_ ?   


Liquid stepped out of the helicopter onto Shadow Moses and immediately felt Mantis reach out to him. No use trying to hide the truth from him.

_Seriously? Fucking up the operation’s one thing but this… this is just embarrassing._  

_You’re telling me, that you wouldn’t have been out of there IMMEDIATELY when YOU saw that chainsaw hand? Don’t answer that_ , Liquid fired back.

He felt a wave of Mantis’s disappointment wash over him.

_You didn’t even get that burrito._

Liquid was done. _Look. Are you gonna help me, or what?_

_What will it be then, Boss?_ That last word was _almost_ too smug to tolerate, but Liquid would need all the help he could muster to get this one past Ocelot and the others. And having a literal psychic on his side couldn’t hurt.

_You distract Ocelot, I’m going to need his office to myself for a bit while I make some calls._

_Affirmative, Boss. I’ll dredge up our old debate over who’s the best Spaghetti Western star. Wolf shouldn’t be a problem because she’s feeding her dogs right now and Raven is out on some wilderness adventure. Octopus is preparing the blood. That scientist kid never leaves his cave anyways._

And with that, the mindlink went silent.

Liquid made sure the coast was clear and crept into Ocelot’s office. His office decor was… _unique_ , including a flickering small-scale replica of that neon cowboy sign from Vegas. Probably got it as a souvenir there. The most unsettling thing by far though was a small ceramic cat with one normal-looking eye and one vacant eye that almost looked like it _glowed_ from the right angle. Liquid quietly turned the all-seeing cat around so he could work in peace.

Ocelot’s CRT monitor displayed the ever-looping Windows Maze screensaver. Liquid bumped the mouse on his way to the Rolodex and the maze disappeared. In its place, there was what looked like some sort of conspiracy forum. Liquid guessed it made sense for Ocelot to go and sow discord in the minds of the internet’s skeptics. Curiosity drew his hand back towards the mouse but- _no_ \- he had work to do, and Mantis could only argue with him about Clint Westwood or whomever for so long.

He paged through the Rolodex looking for anything that might be Ocelot’s contact for this operation. Under S he finds- “Shadow Moses Guy.” ‘Bout right. Liquid cleared his throat and tested out his best unhinged old man voice. “Hello, yes? I wear spurs even though there isn’t a single horse on this entire island. Wa-HAHAHAHAHA!”

He dialed the number on Ocelot’s stupid over-the-top candy red rotary phone. Because. Of course he had a relic like that.

“Sir?” said the voice on the other end.

“You’ll tell them Miller is dead no matter what information you get. Pretend to be the coroner. Whatever it takes.” Liquid said, doing a passable Ocelot impression by his own estimations.

“Copy that, sir. Miller is dead for all intents and purposes.”

The line went dead. That was much easier than he expected.

He turned the creepy cat back around and made sure all traces of his presence were not apparent. Wait. What if the contact billed FOXHOUND for this change of plans? As much grief as he gave the old man, he _was_ financing this entire operation and would know. But- wait. Ocelot, to his knowledge, hadn’t batted an eye that time Liquid had made a mistake. He’d ordered matching velour tracksuits for FOXHOUND. They were going to be _stylish_ for once instead of vaguely matching by way of some people not wearing shirts and some people having long coats.

Until the shipment came in and Mantis brought up a very important point. Liquid really hadn’t thought this one through. They couldn’t just give Ocelot pants that said “Juicy” across the arse. He might get _ideas_ . Liquid made an executive decision. Hopefully Ocelot would never go through that _particular_ storage closet.

So, he wasn’t worried about Ocelot seeing it on his credit card statement or however it worked. Come to think of it, Liquid has never seen him demonstrate concern for finances _at all_ throughout their tenure as colleagues. Ah well. Made his job easier. He strode down the hall towards his own office like nothing was out of the ordinary.

Speaking of the devil. “There you are, Liquid.” There he was. The old bugger looked him over. “Looks like old Miller put up quite the fight, didn’t he? But I knew you could do it.”

Liquid smiled. “Quite the fight alright. You never told me the bastard had a _chainsaw hand._ By my estimation, a lesser man would’ve ended up a lot like Miller himself… Down a limb or two.”

Ocelot chuckled. “So what happened?”

“Well, I used his own hubris against him, obviously. In our original tussle, I managed to be a little faster than him and trick him into whirling around and getting his unwieldy chainsaw stuck in a wall.” Liquid paused for a moment. If he threw in a bit of his own folly, it would be more believable. “But I guess I took too long delivering flashy final words. Should’ve slit his throat immediately. The whole time he was stuck, he was taunting me too. Called me a bastard. Spit blood on my nice gloves. Real messy bloke, that Miller. So of course he manages to get the chainsaw off the rest of his metal arm and immediately tackles me ”

“Fought until the very end, hmm? Like a dog that doesn’t know when to give up.” Ocelot stared into the middle distance, fidgeting with the barrel of one of his revolvers.

“I eventually prevailed. By that time the sun was almost rising so I got the hell out. I have to give it to Miller. He was quite the determined bastard. A worthy opponent.”

They both stood in a moment of almost reverent silence. Liquid noticed something folded in Ocelot’s arms. Good- change the subject before he asks any more questions.

“What’s that?”

“Oh- that’s the shirt you’re going to wear while posing as Miller.”

“What? You didn’t say wearing a shirt was part of the deal.”

“Of course it’s ‘part of the deal.’ You could definitely tell on the codec. Master Miller would wear a shirt.”

Liquid attempted some last-ditch improvisation. “Well… He wasn’t when I found him!”

Ocelot gave him a funny look. “That… is inconsequent. You’re doing a _job_ . You _will_ wear it.”

“Alright. Fine. I’ll wear the shirt. But about how far down can you see on the screen?”

“You’ll be seeing them later, but,” Ocelot gestures to about collarbone level on himself, “around there. Wait. Why?”

“Oh, nothing.” Liquid smirked. The old man _couldn’t_ stop him from cutting the shirt just below that level. A crop-top to surpass Metal Gear. “Oh, and, one more question?”

“Yes?”

“Do we have any giant fans around that we could relocate to the Metal Gear hangar?”

“I _sincerely_ doubt it’s too hot down there.”

“It’s for the reveal. I’ve decided it’s not complete unless my trenchcoat is dramatically flapping in the wind. And what’s a lad got to do to get a fog machine around here?”

Ocelot sighed. “Check in the foundry. They might have some extra fans down there.”

“Why do we have a foundry in here anyway? Are we forging something? Isn’t it all a bit hazardous?”

Ocelot turned to leave, muttering some nonsense about “level design.” 

He stopped abruptly and turned back. Patted Liquid on the shoulder. 

“Hey. I’m proud of you. That assassination sounded pretty brutal. Miller was always one hell of a tough cookie.” And then he was gone. 

In spite of himself, Liquid found himself beaming, chest full of warmth. It was all based on a farce but… it was good to hear those words, for once. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh and if for some reason you were wondering what ocelot's weird cat statue looks like, it's based on this [thing](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/Dg-Me3PU0AA8mT8.jpg) we found in my grandma's house ... her name is Miriam The All-Seeing


	8. Addendum: For Victims of Attempted Home Invasion by Dumb Asshole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Was it the Anchorage Snake Man? Or someone trying to steal Miller's ultra-rare train set? Either way, absolutely no derailing allowed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> huge thanks to Lia, my beta, who assisted and encouraged my quest for creating authentic mid-2000s forum experiences and BEING THE BEST
> 
> this chapter contains forum smilies- they're all small but a few of them flash so be forewarned. 
> 
> also shoutout to fern. i hope you like... your "cameo"

Miller gently removed a large paw from his knee.

“Kari. No. You’re way too big to sit on my lap. You’re gonna tip the chair over again.” Yes. Again. They’d been over this. His desk chair was no match for a full-size Siberian husky.

“ _Ruuuuuuuuuuuuuu,_ ” she whined.

“I _know_ it’s not fair! But you can’t sit up here!” He scratched Kari behind the ears. She better stop crying or else Mandy would come in and join in because SISTER UPSET MEANS I UPSET TOO! “Dad will come sit with you later! He’s busy right now,” he told her.

And he _was_ busy. He was checking replies on the thread he’d posted on the Sightings board on AwakeNET last night. Subject line, “POSSIBLE ANCHORAGE SNAKE MAN ENCOUNTER- TRIED TO BREAK AND ENTER.”

He had outlined the night’s fateful events with… maybe a few artistic liberties but, only a few. Truth0logy_911 was in this thread? Oh, _this_ should be good.

Click. “That sounds scary, yeti. Is everything ok?”

 _What?_ He read the comment over again and the username. Was this the same truth0logy_911 that once accused him of lying about missing an arm? Maybe close encounters with potentially nonhuman kind brought out the human in even the most dickish of us.

He scrolled down. Oh. A followup comment from truth0logy, timestamped ten minutes later.  A little more in-character. “It’s a good thing he didn’t manage to get in your house. You’d stand NO CHANCE in a close encounter. Supposedly one milliliter of its venom could bring down a COW, much less a MAN.”

Miller sighed. Back at it with the unnecessary explanation already? He continued making his way down.

“What do you think about the theory about the Snake Man origin theory, OP?” wrote Mudkip2.

“Origin theory?” echoed John_Alexander.

“Basically there were some leaks- not confirmed but we think they might be legit CIA docs- about some experiments that started in the mid ‘90s in Alaska. Some remote Area 51 kind of business- directly following the collapse of the USSR. Reported human genetic experimentation involving snakes and other animals. Project CADUCEUS. It’s rumored that some of the experiments managed to escape including a man with highly venomous snakes for arms.

“He continues to roam the Alaskan wilderness to this day, driven mad looking for somewhere warm as his snake arms are cold-blooded while the rest of him isn’t. Some kind of secret CIA technology keeps him from freezing to death out there. Sad, really. But it’s not advisable to let him in because the snake arms are reportedly vicious and out of his control. Of course, there was a massive coverup for the experimentation,” explained DoublePlusUnbanned.

“What about… the badger guy?” wrote PearlHarborInsideJob.

“Oh come on dude everyone knows Badger Dick Kyle was a hoax meant to discredit the leaks ,” wrote Half_Life_2.  

“this is a forum for conspiracies and the occult, _not_ bad excuses some guy gave why he couldn’t send pics. besides. that’s stupid anyways. a guy with a WHOLE BADGER for a dick? how would that even work?  the shit people will believe on here these days ” wrote GeorgeSearsRetireBitch.

“ **This is a mod warning- no Badger Dick Kyle discussion on Yeti’s Snake Man thread. It breaks the derailing rule and we won’t hesitate to start deleting replies,** ” wrote Lalelulilo_And_Stitch.

Well, shit. He didn’t mean to get _mods_ involved. Honestly Miller didn’t remember hearing anything about this Badger Dick Guy and wanted to know _everything_.

Next up was a post that read “[deleted] Note from mod: We’re _serious._ ” from a now-banned user named FreeBadgerDickKyle.

DICKWOLF420FERN followed it up with, “ ”

“are you  kevin mcallister because why the hell else would you rig so many weird things around your house? Op wtf is your deal,” wrote Tupac_Lives.

And- _Christ_ . Miller’s hands flew to his eyes. That last fucker had a _huge_ flashing GIF in their signature, switching rapidly between two images of Avril Lavigne to prove… she had been secretly replaced with a double or something? He never read much into those threads. Hit a little too close to home. He scrolled down quickly before he got a _fucking_ migraine. If you’re gonna do that shit at least make sure the backgrounds aren’t wildly different. He was _pretty sure_ that shit was against the forum rules.

“I bet youd have handed that snake man’s ass to him ;) got any chainsaw hand pics?” wrote TexasRanger64. Middle-aged mom who had gotten a little bolder in her chupacabra sighting claims _and_ her advances toward “YETI_STOLE_MY_ARM” since her husband went to New York on business for the year. Going after sketchy dudes on cryptid forums was… pretty sad honestly. But the attention was kinda nice.

  
As for the Snake Man theory? He could admit it was pretty out there, but, then again, he’d met the literal results of _fucking human cloning experiment_ and seen _parasite superpowers_ so. Snake arms weren’t totally implausible. Might not be CIA though. Bet Ocelot knew something about it. Maybe Ocelot’s the guy with the badger dick. Hopefully. Fucker deserved it.

He pushed Ocelot out of his thoughts once again and kept scrolling.

“Are u sure it wasnt a really determined burgular? Have u perhaps pissed off the mafia or something?” posited Katara42

“Honestly considering OPs history and everything he seems to kno i wouldnt even be surprised if hes got yakuza, mafia, AND FBI after him. that would explain the weird dedication to home defense tbh,” replied DoublePlusUnBanned.

If only you knew, DoublePlus…Next up was NarutoBelievesIt, who said, “that’s genuinely concerning. Burglar or snake man shouldn’t you be calling the police instead of posting about it on here?”

Truth0logy_911 was back at it with “uh NO of course not. Can’t trust cops. If anything they might think he knows too much.”

“That’s freakin ridiculous why would local law enforcement know about the Snake Man conspiracy, much less threaten random citizens who may or may not have run into it? ” fired back NarutoBelievesIt.

“You don’t KNOW how deep the coverup roots go! Plus. We never ruled out the mafia thing. I’m sure Yeti has his REASONS.” retorted truth0logy. Damn, he even had people _fighting_.

He’d chart out all his responses later but- that mafia one was deserving of one right away. If he couldn’t banish Ocelot from his thoughts he might as well have fun with it, right?

“Katara- You might be onto something. Could be my Russian spy ex still misses me. Let’s hope his aim doesn’t get any better! ” Now _that_ should get at least a few rofls and groans.

Miller got up to retrieve a cold beer from the fridge. Replying to the rest of these _fans_ was gonna be thirsty work. He found Cody sitting in front of the fridge, head tilted to the side such that one ear flopped over.

“God, okay, fine, Cody, no need to bring out the BIG GUNS.” Miller picked up the squeaky toy next to Cody’s feet, gave it a squeeze, and threw it across the room, making sure no train models were near the landing zone. The German Shepherd bounded in hot pursuit, oddly graceful in spite of his missing front leg. He brought it back, wagging his tail.  
  
“Good boy! Who’s the _best_ boy, Cody!” Miller cooed, petting him. He reached out with his bionic hand to retrieve the toy but Cody kept it in an iron grip. “Well. If you’re not gonna give it back, go play with your sisters! Daddy’s got work to do.”

He pried the cap off the beer bottle with a single bionic thumb, sat down, and refreshed the page. Shit. More replies already?

“Oh my god thats not even a DAD joke thats an UNCLE joke,” remarked NotMyRealUsername.

“more like a grandpa joke. isnt yeti like 50 or something???”  wrote PWNZ0R3D_69

NarutoBelievesIt quoted PWNZ0R3D_69 and added, ""

“Wait yeti is 50 and he made a KNIFE GARDEN?” wrote SheeplesRepublic.

“lol of course Yeti has a _russian spy ex bf_ ” wrote GeorgeSearsRetireBitch.

Laugh all you want, kid. Out of all the bullshit he’d posted on this website,  _that_ one was true. He took a sip of his beer and a deep breath. It was going to be a wild afternoon of posting, that’s for sure. Might just be the thing AwakeNET needed to pull it out of last week’s extended “Kennedy Assassination was faked, moon landing had a second unidentified rocket” troll fiasco.

_________________________________

Update: Now Including Lia's REDACTED Forum Signature for FreeBadgerDickKyle

 


	9. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Proto-Philanthropy gang's movie night gets interrupted. It's NOT a prank call, for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy fuck it's so wild to be finally finishing my first fic a year later... Thank you to everyone who came along for the ride and *whispers* stay tuned for the top-secret Postcredits chapter :3 
> 
> biggest thanks to Lia whomst has been the best and most supportive beta AND friend i could ask for
> 
> actual publish date 9/3/18 but i'm moving it forward so Home Invasion will appear before my ficlets collection in my archive

The credits made their way up Dave’s TV screen. Next to him on the couch, Otacon leaned forward, hands on his knees, expectantly looking at his friends. 

“So,” he began, voice excited, “What did you guys think of Ghost in the Shell?” It had been his turn to pick for movie night. True to his name, he picked… what’d he call it? Japanimation? Dave turned to look at Meryl.

“That was a pretty fuckin cool movie! You can really see the influence it had on a lot of stuff, like The Matrix,” she said, petting the husky who had managed to squeeze between her and the armrest.

Otacon inhaled. “Oh, you mean  _ wholesale ripped off _ . But. Whatever. What did you think, Dave?” 

He  _ didn’t _ say the robot girl had nice tits because he didn’t feel like getting slugged by Meryl right then. “Hmm… I liked it. But the name made me think it would be spookier.  _ Ghost _ in the Shell.”  

Hal laughed. “Well, it’s a more metaphorical interpretation of the word  _ ghost _ -”

As if on cue, Dave’s cell phone sprung to life on the coffee table. The sound of Kenny Loggins’ “Danger Zone” filled the room. Dave’s stomach sank. 

Otacon regarded him with concerned eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Danger Zone… is only my ringtone… when Master Miller calls.” One very boring afternoon, he’d figured out how to set custom ringtones for different callers and he thought the Top Gun soundtrack was befitting Miller’s choice of eyewear. But. It really wasn’t funny anymore, was it? 

“Well, what are you waiting for? Pick it up!” said Meryl.

“I don’t know,” said Otacon, “What if this is some kind of trap?” 

Meryl’s eyes were huge. “ _ Or _ he could be looking at the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to talk to a REAL LIVE… I mean… dead, I guess… GHOST!” 

“It could be dangerous!” insisted Otacon. 

Dave shook his head. “Only one way to find out.” He flipped open the phone. 

“Hello?” he said, tentatively. 

“Hey, how’s my favorite Snake doing?” said the voice on the other line, which… by all means, sounded like Master Miller. But, as it were, he’d been had by this one before. 

“Is this some kind of prank call?” 

“Believe you me, kid, don’t even get me  _ started  _ on prank calls,” said Maybe-Miller. 

“This isn’t… Liquid?” Dave ventured. 

“We saw Liquid drop  _ dead _ ,” Meryl hissed. 

Dave glanced at her. “When you’ve seen what I’ve seen… Something like that might not be as final as you expect.” 

“Who are you talking to? And what the hell are you talking about? Did something happen?” asked the voice on the phone, now tinged with concern.

_ Did something happen?  _ Understatement of the year, Maybe-Miller. 

“Campbell… He said they found you dead in your home,” Dave finally replied. 

A chuckle from the other side. “Me and Roy are gonna have a  _ talk _ later. But if you’re unsure, that’s totally understandable. Ask me something only the real Master Miller would know.” 

Dave racked his brain. What’s something he would- ah. 

“What’s Mandy and Kari’s mom’s name?” he asked. That seemed like a pretty safe bet. 

“Laika, right? How’s she doing?” 

Okay. That sounded like the real Master Miller but then. What happened? 

Dave exhaled. “So it is you. She’s doing pretty well. I’m finally getting around to racing dogs again after… Shadow Moses.” 

“What the hell happened?” 

He gave Miller the short rundown of the Shadow Moses incident right up until-

“And then he says, ‘DID YOU LIKE MY SUNGLASSES, SNAKE?’” 

He heard Miller sharply exhale on the other end of the line. “Wait. So. Let me get this straight. Your twin clone brother, who’s blond for some reason, fooled you and your entire support team into thinking he was  _ me _ ?” Well. When he put it that way, it sounded really stupid. “How old are you again?”

“Thirty-three,” Dave replied. 

“And you thought he was me.” 

“You’ve aged really well, okay?” 

Meryl interjected, “Wait. Am I hearing this? How old is Master Miller?” 

“Hnrgh... Almost sixty,” answered Dave. 

“He’s ALMOST SIXTY? WHAT EVEN HAPPENED? IS HE THE GUY THOSE FOXY GRANDPA HATS ARE ACTUALLY ABOUT OR SOMETHING?” Meryl cackled. 

“Oh- do I hear a girl? Was I, ah, interrupting something?” Miller teased. 

“Shut up,” Dave said. Applicable to both of them. God. It wasn’t even like that anymore with Meryl. Who had just swiped Otacon’s glasses and put them on. 

“Snake! I hacked into the Metal Gear!” she said, in her best Otacon impression between gasps for air, “ARE YOU FOOLED BY MY CLEVER DISGUISE?” She was getting hysterical. 

“Can I have my glasses back?” asked Otacon quietly. 

“Master, you’re hearing Campbell’s niece, Meryl,” Dave explained. 

“She sounds like she knows what she’s talking about,” said Miller, laughing too. 

“You don’t understand. The codec screens are small and grainy. And… it was nice to have someone familiar around. So. I believed him.” 

Miller got quiet. “Kid, I’m sorry for laughing at you. Sounded like some real shit happened at Shadow Moses. But if you’ve got friends over I don’t want to keep you waiting.” 

“It’s alright. The whole thing is really stupid, looking back.. I’m… glad you’re not dead.” 

“Me too,” Miller said. Dave could imagine the smile that went with those words. Smug but… warm. 

“But- be careful, alright? If someone wanted me to think you’re dead, you could be in danger.” 

“I’ll keep an eye out. But I think I defeated whoever- or whatever- came after me. I’ll tell you the story later. It’s pretty whacky.” 

“Talk to you later then.” 

“Over and out.” Miller always ended phone calls like that. It was stupid, but, comforting in a way.

Dave exhaled. Felt like a weight had been lifted off him. Didn’t have to come to terms with what felt much closer to losing a father than Big Boss’s death ever did. Or worry about what became of Miller’s dogs. 

“You okay?” asked Otacon. 

“Yeah. Just. A lot to take in but. I’m relieved.” 

Meryl patted him on the back. “You gotta show us, though. What does Master Miller look like?” 

After some rifling through old photos, Dave managed to find a Polaroid of him and Master Miller on a fishing trip from last year.

“Holy shit, has he ever considered cosplaying Edward Elric?”  Otacon blurted out. 

“Edward Elric?” echoed Dave.

“He’s an anime guy who- y’know what. I’m gonna make you guys watch Fullmetal Alchemist and then you’ll understand.” 

Meryl was satisfied. “Yeah, I  _ guess _ I could see it.” She paused. “If we do watch that, is there an English version? Reading the subtitles makes it harder to look at the animation.” 

Otacon gasped, absolutely offended. “You’re a  _ dubs _ person?” 

Meryl rolled her eyes. “I don’t see what the big deal is. I’m trying to watch TV, not  _ read. _ ” 

Dave sat back and sank into the couch cushions, tuning the  _ thrilling _ discussion out momentarily. Maybe, for once, shit was actually going to be okay. 

\---

Miller clicked the receiver with his bionic hand. Poor kid sounded scared out of his mind at the beginning. At least now he knew Master Miller’s still kickin’. But  _ now,  _ for another necessary phone call. He dialed the familiar ten digits. Listened to the ringing. Once, twice. 

The third time was cut off. “Hello?” 

Miller took a deep breath. “Roy Campbell. You  _ dense motherfucker. _ ” 


End file.
